


So Let The Love Tear Us Apart

by bonn



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Muggle, F/M, this is an experiment in exactly how much angst i can produce
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-26
Updated: 2018-08-20
Packaged: 2018-11-05 03:49:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11005374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bonn/pseuds/bonn
Summary: a non-linear extended au of snapshots into the young adult lives of three absolute messes





	1. So Let The Love Tear Us Apart

**Author's Note:**

> yep. a song fic in the year 2017
> 
> xoxo gossip bonn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> part 1. old friends dance to joy division and celebrate the irony

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> spotify playlist: https://open.spotify.com/user/1231552406/playlist/7pf6XPvmqBC0TL6GroLMuZ

**Sunday**

It's been two weeks since Mr Evans' funeral, James' mum informs them sombrely she clicks on her left indicator to leave the train station carpark. Sirius shoots James a look, but James just stares out the window and counts the number of garden gnomes they pass.

(Nobody has garden gnomes in London, except Notorious Nick from halls in first year, and even then, he'd stolen them.

He'd let James help him go at them with cricket bats in the courtyard after exams. Smashing a ceramic gnome with a swing that would've scored a six was one of life's finer pleasures, he'd decided.)

"How long are you boys staying for?" Euphemia asks, and this earns James another look from Sirius.

"Not sure yet," Sirius says, but he's still giving James that _look_ , the one that tells James when he's being too depressing, or too melancholy, and Sirius is _this close_ to calling his mum about it. It's a look that says _why are you keeping secrets from us?_

"A while, I think," James says.

"Oh?" Euphemia tries to make eye contact with James through the rearview mirror, but he stares steadfastly at the back of the headrest in front of him.

"Is it alright if we go to Pete's before dinner?"

She pauses, trying to weigh the situation. "Of course."

James sits back and starts on the gnomes again.

Fleamont is there, at the end of that long gravel driveway, ready to haul their bags out of the boot, but James takes one look at his father's grey-laced head, and thinks of Mr Evans, and races around the car to get there first.

He trudges up the stairs, and Sirius heads toward the garden, or the bathroom, or the library. Euphemia follows James, and when he pushes open his bedroom door, she puts her arms around his middle, and rests her chin on his shoulder. They survey the room together for a second and there's something off about it, but he can't--

"Awful boy," she says, and it's the stripped bed that's the issue, "not even giving me enough warning so I could have fresh sheets for you."

"It's okay," he says, and he means it. He pats his mum's wrist, and then he pulls free to dump his duffel next to the dresser.

Sirius knocks on the doorframe, and they both jump a little. "Pete's expecting us. We'd better head."

James nods, and kisses his mother on the cheek. "We won't be ages."

Peter's street looks exactly the same as James remembers, except that all the curtains are drawn on the Evans house as they pass it. Lily's light isn't even on.

(He threw enough rocks at her window during sixth form that he'll never forget the sight of her, in one of her dad's old t-shirts and pants, silhouetted by the - and he'd made fun of her for this - soft pink light of her lamp.)

That window is a void space now, silent and nothing. He wonders if she's in there.

"Hurry up, you sad fucker - if you start pining over Evans again _as well_ , I'm going back to London." It's an empty threat, they both know it, but James looks away from the sleeping house anyway, and half jogs to catch Sirius up.

Peter hugs them both rather bodily, considering he was only in London to visit three weeks ago.

Mrs Pettigrew fusses over them for a few minutes - "My, James, how gaunt you look - it's that city air, I'd bet my life on it, it's no good for you!" - before Pete cuts her off with an exasperated _mum_ , and leads them into the den.

"Smash?" Peter asks, and James nods his approval, and Sirius grunts in a way that seems to indicate yes.

Sirius and James fight over the only beanbag--

(There had been two, once upon a time, then Sirius had gone through his punk phase, and the flimsy fabric had been no match for his safety pins.)

James is the victor, but that doesn't mean much, because Sirius just sits on top of him anyway while Peter turns on the PlayStation, and then Sirius says, "Why didn't you tell mum we're moving back?" and James is in a foul mood, just like that.

"Because," James says, giving Sirius a shove that leaves him sprawled unceremoniously on the floor, "if I tell her that, then I'll have to tell her I quit my job, then she'll ask why I quit, then I'll have to tell her I fucking hate engineering, and that she and dad paid for a degree in it for nothing because I'm never going to use it. And _then_ she'll ask what about Elenore, then I'll have to tell her that Elenore cheated on me with a guy who looks a lot less like Harry Styles than she's been telling everyone he does, and she'll get this knowing look like _didn't I tell you white girls are no good for you?_ And I just don't want to deal with that, yet."

"Christ," says Peter, and hands him a controller.

Two rounds in, when Peter is changing the settings from six stock to one, because he reckons it's more fun that way, James' phone chirps, and he gets this weird, apprehensive feeling when he sees Marlene McKinnon's name in the notification, so he ignores it.

(It's a video, shared to his timeline. He'd been young, and drunk, and in what he thought had been love, and it was the best night of his life, the night that he and Lily had lost their shit to a fucking Joy Division song at the roller disco that's been sans _roller_ since 1981.)

James says, "Are the Evanses away?"

Peter goes stiff for a second, and then, "Nah. I've seen Petunia around. The curtains have been shut since Papa Evans passed."

"Did you go to the funeral?"

"'Course," Pete says. "Whole town did, just about. No-one's seen Lily since," he adds, because he knows James can't bring himself to ask. "Let's play - look, it's sudden death, oh no _don't_ Sirius! Don't just throw yourself off the edge, you're spoiling it!"

Dinner is a funny affair, not in that it's actually _funny_ , but that it's completely silent, which is the _strange_ sort of funny. Euphemia keeps looking at James when she thinks he can't see, but he knows what it feels like to have his mother's eyes on him, knows the weight of it better than anything.

"I think I'll go to bed," he says, when he's only halfway through his food, because he can't stand it anymore. He hasn't been alone in a week and a half, hasn't been alone since he came home from dinner with Elenore and not-Harry Styles, hasn't been alone since Sirius climbed into bed with him that night.

"Remus gets in tomorrow," Sirius reminds him, and he nods as he kisses his mother's cheek, and takes his plate to the kitchen.

He sets it down quietly, and chokes back a sob, and lets his feet carry him into the back garden. He can see the whole town from here, but suddenly he doesn't want to, so he takes off his glasses, and that solves that problem.

He lets his feet carry him further, and his fingers brush over petals, over leaves, over petals. He finds his hands full, somehow, and he lets his feet carry him further, past the back of the property, and down the hill, and out, and out, and away. He wonders when he'll stop needing to get _away_.

Sirius is curled up on James' bed when he gets back.

"Told Aai you were in the bath when she came to check," he yawns when James shakes him softly. "Remember Remus gets in tomorrow."

James stands, itching to cross the hall to Sirius' empty bed. "I know," he says quietly.

* * *

**Monday**

She intercepts him on the footpath outside her house. She looks like hell, and he wishes all of a sudden that he'd gone with Sirius to pick Remus up from the station because he doesn't want to face her alone.

"Did you leave flowers on my father's grave?" she asks, and it's almost a challenge, an accusation. He nods, meekly. "Why?"

"Because he was a good man, and I'm glad I knew him, even if it wasn't as well as I," or _you_ , "might have liked," he says, and it's the truth. He knows it's the truth, because it makes her cry, and then somehow she's sobbing into his shoulder, and he's rubbing her back, and neither of them quite remembers how they got there.

"You weren't at the funeral," she says, quietly. "I needed you at the funeral," she doesn't, loudly.

He doesn't say anything, doesn't try to give her any excuses - no "I didn't know" (false), or "Elenore would never have let me" (true), or "I was afraid" (truer) - and she seems relieved by that, almost.

"Come in?" she asks.

"I can't," he says. "The boys are all waiting at Pete's."

She has this half smile on - the one that always meant that she thought it was _so cool_ that they were all so close, and loyal, and in love with each other, and she says, "Come 'round tomorrow, then?"

And against his better judgement, he says, "Okay."

She smiles softly, or, _no_ , she looks at him softly, and maybe the smile is just a side effect. He doesn't know what to do with his hands, or his face, or himself, so he says, "I have to go," and goes.

"Where've you been?" Pete asks when James appears in the doorway to the den, and Remus stands to greet him. Sirius does not.

"Ran into Evans up the street."

"How is she?" Remus asks.

"How would you be?" James says, and Remus concedes that. "She wanted me to come inside."

"Grief sex," Sirius says, loudly.

"Man, shut up, my mum's here!" Peter hisses, punching Sirius in the thigh.

"Peter, you're almost 23," Sirius deadpans.

"We don't all have shitty parents who don't--"

"Pete," James warns, because he's not in the mood to cross _that_ line right now. "Anyway I told her I couldn't so she asked me to come over tomorrow."

"Grief sex," Sirius says again, quieter. The look on Peter's face says it's still not quiet enough.

"Do you think?"

"Well, you have a history, don't you?"

Even Remus seems to be on Sirius' side now.

"Oh come on, that was once!"

"Once is enough," Remus says sagely.

"Oh, fuck off, then. Are we going to do something or what?"

Peter rolls his eyes and puts on _Stardust_.

* * *

**Tuesday**

There are seventeen IKEA candles burning in Lily's room when she lets him in. He counts them because she lets him in, and then sits down in her desk chair and doesn't say anything. He sits down on the edge of her bed, and they avoid looking at each other for a while.

Mrs Evans brings them tea, after what seems like an _eternity_ of studying the blutack marks on the walls. "I guessed that you still take your tea the same way," she says. He doesn't, but he thanks her and takes it anyway.

Lily gets up to close the door behind her mum, and then she surprises him by joining him on the bed. "How is, um, what's-her-name?"

"Elenore?"

"Yeah, her."

"No idea."

"You broke up?"

"Yeah. It's a long story, and not a clean one."

"That's why you're back," she says. It isn't a question. He's barely seen her in four years, but she still speaks to him like she _knows_ him, better than anyone. Better than Elenore ever did. _Fuck_ , he thinks.

"Doesn't seem so important, in retrospect."

She sizes him up, looks at him like she can't believe he could be this _daft_. "It's important, James. Shit things don't invalidate other shit things. There's more than one type of heartbreak."

And then, because he hasn't said it, and they both need him to, "I'm sorry I couldn't come."

"It's okay. I mean, no, it wasn't - I was so angry with you. I was so angry right up until I saw you yesterday, and then I remembered you're just a guy, and you can't make everything better." She takes a sip of her tea then, so he does too, just so he doesn't have to respond. He doesn't know how. "I've missed you."

"You should have come to London," he says. "To visit." To live.

"I could never afford it." _I could never afford it_. "You're back now, anyway."

"Not forever."

"Are you going to go back, then?"

He thinks of Elenore and not-Harry Styles, and their facebook engagement announcement, and about how Elenore's stopped posting instagram photos from the waist down, and he says, "No, I don't think so."

"Where are you gonna go, then?" she asks, and she's playing with the corner of her quilt, worrying at the wool like he does when he feels like the world is too much.

"Dunno. Dublin, maybe. Prague, or Budapest, or I think Sirius wants to go to New York."

"It's like you don't want me to visit," she jokes, or doesn't joke as she fixes him with a stare that feels like she's thinking about jumping out the window.

"Maybe I don't," he jokes, or doesn't joke, and she swallows, hard. "Of course I do." He links a finger with hers, drags her hand away from the quilt. "Hey. Of course I do."

She takes her hand back, takes an improbably large gulp of tea. Leaves her heart behind.

She puts on an episode of _the IT Crowd_ , the street _Countdown_ one, and they watch it without any particular emotion, and when it's over, he leaves.

* * *

**Friday**

"What happened between you and Elenore?" Remus asks, when James has sat down, and flagged the server over, and asked for a pot of English Breakfast with soy on the side. He already has a coffee, the rude git.

"Nothing good," James says tightly.

"C'mon, James. You have to tell us eventually."

"What's there to tell?" James sighs. "She started coming home smelling like smoke, and then she stopped drinking, and then she took me out to dinner and Ben fucking Adams was there too--"

"Ben Adams? The guy on her instagram who looks like Harry Styles?"

"He doesn't! He doesn't look like him! In like, that one photo, _kind of_."

"Sore spot?"

"He doesn't. He was there too, with his hand up her skirt, and she leans over and tells me that he's in our relationship, _tells_ doesn't _ask_. And I say, isn't this something we should discuss? And she tells me that he's in, or I'm out."

"So you were out."

"So I was out."

"Alright then. And what happened between you and Lily?"

"Ah," James says. "That." It's been three days and, "I don't really know," is still the only thing to say.

"It'll work out," Remus says, as the waitress comes back with James' tea. "Frank Longbottom's DJing the roller disco tonight," he says.

"Where'd you hear that?" James asks.

"His floor is my ceiling. I hear everything he says."

"I forgot about that." The waitress puts down the pot, and his saucer, and his cup, and the little jug of milk, and he thinks that they probably went to school together now that he looks at her properly.

"So are we going?"

"Going where?" James asks, looking back at Remus.

"The roller disco. Are you even listening? Like, listening to the words I'm saying?"

James throws a sugar packet at him. "Why would we go?"

"Because we know Frank."

"It's going to be full of seventeen-year-olds."

"Yeah, but we _know_ Frank."

"You already said that."

"We can get him to play like, actual good music. Music from this century."

James thinks about the video on his timeline, and frowns. "You know Sirius will..."

"Make him play Gasolina seventeen times? Yes. I already foresaw that. And I decided it's worth it."

James stares at Remus, stares and stares, and then says, "Okay. Let's go to the roller disco."

He calls her on the busride home, which surprises them both. She picks up, which surprises them more. "Hey," she says.

"We're going to the roller disco tonight."

"I can't," she says.

"Alright," he says.

"I just..."

"It's okay. That's where we'll be, if you need us." He hangs up, and he's missed his stop, and he wants to kick a hole in a fence, any fence. _What the fuck are you doing_ , he thinks. He flips off a garden gnome, then he flips off the one next to it. He flips off every single garden gnome the whole way home.

Sirius takes forever to get ready, and by the time he turns up to Remus' house in holographic shorts and a mesh shirt, the session's already started. Frank laughs and laughs when they walk into the roller disco, but about what _exactly_ , they can't be sure.

(Maybe it's just the sight of them, familiar and iconic even after four years, or maybe it's the mesh top. Maybe it's Peter's flares. Maybe it's Remus pulling a flask out from under his snapback. Maybe it's the way James leaps up and latches onto the edge of the DJ booth to give him a quick kiss.)

James' phone buzzes halfway through _I Believe In A Thing Called Love_.

He picks up on the second ring. "I'm in a taxi," she says.

"Where are you going?" he asks.

"The darker side of town. Will you wait for me?"

"Of course," he says, and she hangs up. "I'm going outside," he tells Peter, who nods, "to wait for Evans."

"I take it Sirius is here," is what she says as he pays the taxi driver for her, and they take a moment to feel the bass from _Gasolina_ through the closed hall door.

"Yep. C'mon."

He takes her hand, or maybe she takes his, or maybe they meet somewhere in the middle. He pulls open the door and leads her through the dance floor, up to the DJ booth.

"I don't know what to ask for," she shouts over _a ella le gusta la gasolina_.

"Really?" he shouts back, over _dame más gasolina_.

She gets this look on her face, all mischief and excitement, and she ushers him back to the boys with an, "It's a secret!"

He watches her catch Frank's attention, and him lean down to hear her, and then Frank looks over at James as he nods, which sends a shiver down James' spine.

She takes both his hands and drags him into the middle of the dance floor, and it's just in time, because-

"Holy shit!" he shouts, and she grins at him as she starts dancing, and it's such an inappropriate song for the mood of the place, and some seventeen-year-old is shouting _what the fuck is this_ , but he joins her, and everything is going wrong but they're so happy, and maybe he _is_ in love with her, and--

_Love, love will tear us apart,_

_Again_


	2. We Could Be Gigantic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> part 2. been kinda hoping you might

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> spotify playlist: https://open.spotify.com/user/1231552406/playlist/4WdppnmJ37FQ7IGyEIpsfx

**November**

When the kettle begins boiling in earnest, it drowns out the ticking of that awful clock that Sirius found in a train station, or at the bottom of the Thames, or in nineteen fifty- _two_. He installed it so far up the wall behind the fridge that Lily hasn’t a hope of reaching it unless she somehow manages to grow an extra three feet, and it drives her mad (especially considering he’s only eight inches taller than her). The point of this is that Lily spends as much time as possible per day boiling the kettle. Lately, her rate of tea consumption is just about levelling James’, which is – well, she sent him a crate of _real_ tea last week so it must be just about time to post him another one.

The clock isn’t even on the right time, which is probably the worst part. Actually, no, the fact that Lily has started automatically adding an hour and six minutes on in her head is probably the worst part.

(She was at work last week when her co-worker Dorcas had asked the time and Lily had told her it was four fifty. Needless to say, their boss had not been pleased to discover Dorcas in the staff room packing up her things an hour before the end of her shift.)

Lily looks at the clock, and it reads two forty-five, which means that in nine minutes’ time, James will be seated in front of his laptop, ready to receive an incoming video call from her. She plugs her own computer into its charger, and waits for it to turn on (too slowly), and then she logs in to Skype.

“Heating’s broken,” she says, the second he picks up the call.

He grins back at her, pixelated and slow, and she tugs on the chain of her necklace. _Anxiety tell_. “Hello to you, too.”

“This is serious!”

“No,” he says, and he must push his laptop around, because she gets a sweeping look at most of his loft, “ _this_ is Sirius.” The man in question freezes with a cup of tea pressed to his lips, and flips her off.

(He might be flipping James off).

She says, “I’m hanging up,” and that’s that.

It takes him 4 minutes and thirty-three seconds to cave and call her back. “Heating still broken?” he asks.

“ _Yes_. London is going to kill me.”

“London can try,” he laughs. “I’ll get someone to come round and have a look at it. Oi Siri,” he calls, looking over the top of the camera, “d’you think I can get your brother to go round ours for free?”

“No,” Sirius shouts back. “He’ll nick whatever booze is in the house.”

James rolls his eyes, and then he’s tapping away at his phone, and without looking up, “There’s a fur coat in the top of the guest bed cupboard, if you’re _that_ cold.”

“I am,” she says, and goes and gets it.

“Regulus says _fuck off_ , which I think means he’s coming over this evening,” he tells her when she plonks back into the desk chair. “I told him you’re going to freeze to death and he just sent back a knife emoji.”

“Aw,” she says, “he _does_ care,” and they both laugh at that. “What have you been up to?”

“You know, this and that – being young and beautiful in a major world city. You know how it is.” He starts listing off on his fingers. “We finally went to that museum and took Gossip Girl pictures on Thursday, which Sirius pretends wasn’t his idea but definitely was. What else? He almost lost it in a Starbucks, _again_.”

“Still hasn’t found a good order, then?”

“I don’t get it! It’s not like we don’t have Starbucks at home!”

“What’s there to get? It’s an opportunity to be dramatic, Sirius is going to jump right on it.”

“It feels so nice to be known!” shouts Sirius, and Lily wishes desperately she was there with them right then.

“Shut up,” James sings. “Wait – fuck, oh my god, he’s just lit the sink on fire, I’ll call you back – _Sirius_!”

The screen goes black, and Lily taps her fingernails on the keyboard. He’s not going to call her back, they both know that. A millisecond, and the loneliness settles in. 

Regulus shows up at 11pm which _shouldn’t_ surprise Lily from what she knows about him, but does anyway. He actually has like, a _tool belt_ , slung low, low on his hips, and a leather jacket, just in case she couldn’t figure out he was related to Sirius by his face.

“Hey,” he says.

“Hey,” she says, “Batman.”

“Ha.”

“Do you know where the heater is?”

“Yep.”

“Alright then.” She steps aside for him to enter, and goes back to the kitchen. “Do you want a tea?” she calls.

“Yep,” he says again, and she puts on the kettle. She pours the water, checks in on Regulus, and then she puts _The King and I_ back on.

“Hey, so that’s totally fucked,” Regulus says, “and I have no idea how to fix it but I can probably get a guy in mayb— _areyouwatchingTheKingandI_?”

“Seems that way.”

Regulus vaults the couch to land beside her, and puts his feet up on the coffee table. “Love this film.”

It takes eleven minutes and forty-one seconds for realisation to hit her. She points at the screen. “Yul Brynner.” Points at him. “Reg- _yul_ -us.” The screen. “Yul.” Him. “Yul.”

“Hmm,” he says.

When they swap phone numbers so he can consult her about a real handyman, she saves his contact info as _Yul_ with a knife emoji, and he gives her what must just about count as a smile, for Regulus Black.

He says, “I’ll text you,” and, with half a bottle of tequila that Lily was unaware was even in the flat tucked under his arm, he leaves.

* * *

**December**

“Lil,” Dorcas says, poking her head out from the back room, “phone’s for you.” Lily hadn’t heard it ring, but she carefully folds the ribbon she’d been measuring, and puts it in her apron pocket.

She takes the phone, and she says, “U-huh?” as she puts the receiver up to her ear.

“ _Finally_ ,” says Petunia, and it sets Lily on edge in less than a heartbeat. “Do you even have your phone on? I’ve been trying to reach you for twenty-five minutes.”

“I don’t know how to put this politely, Petunia, but _obviously_ I’m at work.”

“I know, I had to get the number off Mum. This has been hugely inconvenient for me, you know.”

“What do you want?” Lily asks, trying to suppress her exasperation, and judging by what her sister says next, failing.

“Because you’re being so rude I’m not even going to _try_ to break this gently: you can’t come home for Christmas.”

The world _slants_ and the floor is slipping out from underneath Lily as she manages to say, “What?”

“I booked a table for six at the Pennyworth months ago, because Vernon’s sister was going to be abroad, but she’s not now, and it would be rude to tell her she can’t come after all. I phoned the Pennyworth to see if we could get an extra chair but the place is fully booked out for Christmas dinner and they can’t make any exceptions.”

Lily thinks, as she braces herself against the filing cabinet next to the door, that they probably _could_ make an exception, and Petunia just doesn’t want her strange sister to ruin her perfect Christmas dinner with her future in-laws, but she doesn’t say it.

“And besides, we need your bed because Vernon’s parents are staying at our flat, and they’re very old fashioned, you see, so we can’t let them know we’re sleeping in the same bed before we get married, so Vernon’s taking the sofa at the flat and I’ll be sleeping in my bed at home. Marjorie will have to sleep in your bed, because it’s the only one left. So there won’t be any room for you.”

Lily doesn’t say that she could sleep in their mother’s bed, doesn’t say that she doesn’t want to go to the Pennyworth anyway, doesn’t say that the Potters would most likely take her in for dinner even without James there, and that the food would be a thousand times better, the company a million times better. She says, “What does Mum think of that?” instead of, “What have you told Mum?” and Petunia pauses in her rambling.

“Of course, she thinks that this is all your idea. You’re so busy with work in London, and you know how important it is for us to welcome _all_ of the Dursleys into the family.”

Lily doesn’t say that that’s complete bullshit, doesn’t say that if Petunia hadn’t been slowly poisoning their mother’s mind since Lily moved away, she’d never have believed it.

There seems to be a lot that Lily isn’t saying, and maybe Petunia senses this, because she says, “Don’t forget to phone in the morning, though,” before she hangs up.

Lily listens to the dial tone, an aural marker of time stretching out from this terrible moment, an anchor to keep her from floating away. She barely realises she’s crying until a sob manages to slip free, and then she’s on the floor with her knees pulled up to her chest and a pair of customers staring at her from the wrong side of the counter. Dorcas shuts the door to the back room, has to save face for the business.

It takes the better part of four minutes for Cas to prise the full story out of Lily, after she’s cleared the shop, and put on two teas. Lily’s still shaking, a little, when Cas starts rubbing her back, and she almost sloshes her tea everywhere. If Sirius were here, he might have offered her a cigarette. If Sirius were here, she might have accepted it.

“Your sister’s a right piece of work,” Cas grumbles.

“Yeah, I know.”

“Hey,” Dorcas says quietly, looking towards the sound of the bell over the door tinkling, “Take your break early, I’ll be okay alone here for a while.”

When she’s gone, and the door is shut behind her, Lily digs her mobile out of her bag. Her fingers move without needing to be told what to do, and James answers with a groggy, “Hello?”

“Oh my god,” she says. “Oh, no, I didn’t even think about the time difference, I didn’t even – oh, this is so silly. I’m sorry, this was dumb, go back to sleep, I’ll—”

“Evans,” he says, warm and firm. “Calm down, I’m not angry. I’ve been woken up at five in the morning before.” She hears a window open on the other end of the line, and the sound of trainers on metal, then he says, “What’s up?”

He says it so casually, like he wouldn’t mind if she was just calling to tell him she saw a cat he might have liked. Like he wouldn’t mind being woken up before the sun even if it wasn’t urgent. “Petunia just called,” she says quietly.

“Christ,” he says. “Are you alright?”

“I’m officially uninvited from Christmas.”

She can almost _hear_ him grinding his teeth. “Right, I’m getting my laptop, and I’m going to book you flights out here to be with us—”

“ _No_ ,” she says, though she doesn’t know where the firmness comes from. “No, I’m alright here.” She doesn’t have a passport. She doesn’t have the moral ability to take a handout like that. “I just…” _needed to hear your voice_. She doesn’t say that, and maybe she doesn’t need to. “What are you doing today?”

“Uhh,” he says. “Hmm, I don’t know. I think Siri’s got an interview for something, but I’ll probably just go in and have a four-hour bath to warm up.”

“Go _in_?” Lily asks. “James, you’re not outside?”

“Does the fire escape count as outside?”

“Isn’t it supposed to be _snowing_ there?”

“It’s actually not that bad out. I think it’s going to rain, because rain is so weird here, like it gets _warmer_ when it rains. So it’s…” He yawns. “I don’t know, I just know that the stairwell smells like vomit and it’s way too early for Siri to be woken up. Evans, it’s fine. I’d stand out in the Antarctic without a jumper if you needed me to.”

“Under what circumstances would I ever require that?” she asks.

“Oh,” he says breezily, “I wouldn’t know. I’d just be following orders.”

* * *

**January**

She breaches James’ en suite for the first time when she’s gone through all the towels in the linen closet, and the laundrette down the road is closed for repairs. She knows he’s got to have towels in there, and she knows he won’t mind, really, but it still feels like she’s finally taking it too far.

“This is so stupid,” she tells herself. “You sleep in his bed every other night.”

It still smells like him in here, the exact combination of his shampoo and the bar soap his mum’s always gotten from the Indian grocery store down the hill from his house. The rest of the flat has mostly lost that smell. She blinks back tears she knows she doesn’t really have any right to shed.

She takes a towel and presses her face into it, and then she does what any reasonable person would do – she gets distracted by what he has laid out on the counter. Most notably a framed professional portrait of their old head of form.

She gave up several months ago on not talking to herself in this flat, so she breathes, “Why do you have this in your _bathroom_?” She feels like she’s meant to pray to it, or something, which, well. She can think of worse idols to worship than Minerva McGonagall.

There’s also a family of those tiny ceramic cats that Lily is pretty sure are worth a _lot_ of money, and a folded up serviette with _COSTA RICA_ written in sharpie and underlined eight or nine times. And a tube of toothpaste, which seems normal except—

Its expiry date is like, a questionable amount of time past, so after she googles _how long is toothpaste good for_ and finds out that three years is too long, actually, she has a really supremely stupid thought. That’s how she finds herself with her foot braced up against the shower wall, with funny-smelling white goo lathered on her leg and a _Kinks_ song playing through the entertainment system. She knows it’s toothpaste in theory, but in practice her brain just can’t connect the dots.

She holds one of her shitty disposable razors that she’s definitely been using for longer than she should have, and she gives it a go.

As she holds toilet paper to the parts of her leg that are bleeding, she considers that perhaps this does not rate in her Top Ten Best Ideas Ever.

The weekend before Lily’s birthday sees an eclectic mix of people to the Camden flat – first Regulus, two hours early to help her take down the shitty Christmas decorations she still has up, then Dorcas and Benji, who are put to work on the currently-empty drinks table to make ‘KEEP OUT’ signs for the bedrooms. Well, Cas writes KEEP OUT and Benji draws stick figure bouncers with barrel bodies and bouncer-names like Hugh and Geoff and _Mars_.

At half past eight, they’re playing Cards Against Humanity when the door – the _locked_ door – swings open. Lily’s heart leaps and she half rises from her spot on the couch, because _could they be?_ But it’s Remus and Peter, carrying a slab each, and Frank Longbottom in front with a set of keys in his hand.

 “Compliments of the landlord,” Remus tells her, giving her a quick peck on the cheek before struggling over to the kitchen to free his hands. Peter does the same, and Frank, hands-free already, picks her up and spins her round a couple times in greeting.

“I didn’t know you were coming!” she grins, as Remus and Peter re-join them.

“And miss your birthday?”

Peter scoffs. “Not on Prongs’ watch.”

“I hope you didn’t tell too many people they could stay over,” Remus says, “because I’ve had a standing dibs of Sirius’ bed since he passed out on mine in sixth form and I had to sleep on the floor of my own bedroom.”

“Which time?” Pete asks.

“Exactly.”

Lily laughs, of course of course, and it catches Dorcas’ attention, so she waves her over. “This is Remus, Peter, and Frank, who I went to school with. Lads, this is Dorcas, she’s an angel.”

Later, she overhears Peter telling Dorcas something _stupid_ like, “…loves of each others’ lives but they won’t admit it”, but she’s intercepted from going to refute _that_ claim by Frank with fucking _jägerbombs_ even though he knows she and Sirius got blind on them at their Leavers afterparty and she can’t stand the smell now.

“Frank, darling,” she says, trying not to breathe in, “have you met Alice? She probably won’t throw up on you if you put that thing too close to her.” She grabs Alice’s shoulder and uses her like a human shield, burying her face into shoulder length blonde hair. “Alice, this is Frank. His favourite song is _Come On Eileen_.”

“Fuck off, Evans,” he says cheerfully, and Alice laughs.

“Give me another explanation for why you play it at every single event, then,” says Lily.

“Because it fucking bangs,” Frank says, handing the cup of Red Bull and the shot of Jäger to Alice. Lily uses the distraction as an opportunity to slip away, and she finds herself on the settee next to Mary, getting her head massaged.

“I have a question,” Mary hiccoughs. “Well, I have a few. First,” and she digs her fingers into Lily’s scalp a bit too hard, “why have I not heard a single song recorded anytime in the last fifty years?”

“I dunno how to change the music,” Lily shrugs.

“Second, how the _fuck_ do you afford to live here alone?” She asks it a little louder than Lily might have liked, and she shrinks away from the fingers in her hair.

“Hmm. That.”

“She’s fucking the landlord!” Frank calls from across the room. Entirely too loud. Lily cringes away from the sudden shift in focus around the room.

“I’m gonna get a drink,” she says, and crosses to the kitchen to what is, statistically, a _Kinks_ song. Remus is there, mixing Cherry Coke and vodka, even though she knows he likes neither. “Does James know other bands exist?” she asks, and he laughs, and it’s almost enough to distract from the music changing.

Her body reacts to it before her mind recognises it, and she makes eye contact with him as the blood drains from his face. “I’m sorry!” she shouts, as they make a sprint for the control panel. “I don’t know how to change the songs on this thing.”

He looks up, frustrated, but he says, “It’s not your fault, the thing broke after he put this on and they never figured out how to fix it.”

“But it works fine,” Lily says, peering at the little screen.

“What happened was James prioritised and uploaded all his awful 60s music, and then while he was choosing the other stuff he wanted on, Sirius snuck in and put on _Gasolina_ and something went wrong and the file copied 27 times and now they can’t put anything new on _or_ take anything off.”

“And here I thought Potter had just given up on modern music completely.”

“Oh,” says Remus, shutting the control flap, resigned, “I wouldn’t take that level of pretentiousness off the table.”

 _[01:21] lames otter_ to _billy kevins_ : did u like the presents

 _billy kevins_ : i dont even drink somersbys

 _lames otter_ : I TOLD PETER NOT TO GET FUCKING SOMERSBYS

 _lames otter_ : wht abt the actual present

 _billy kevins_ : what actual present?

 _lames otter_ : i knew putting peter in charge was a bad idea

 _billy kevins_ : smh

Lily looks across the room to Peter, who’s just pulling out his phone and frowning at the screen. He looks up and searches for her, and gives her a sheepish smile. He holds up a finger like _wait_ and goes into the kitchen, and she shares a look with Remus.

Peter emerges with a velvet box and Lily thinks for a hot minute that 1) James is proposing, 2) he’s proposing via Peter, 3) he’s _proposing_ but then she realises that any jewellery might come in a velvet box.

 _billy kevins_ to _lames otter_ : tell me you did not buy me jewellery

 _lames otter_ : open it u fool

She takes the box from Peter and opens it slowly, because this is sure to be something stupidly expensive, knowing James, but—

“Oh my god,” she laughs. It’s a plastic Spider-Man kids’ watch, like the one she and Tuney used to share back in primary school, before Tuney gave it to the boy she liked and he gave her a broken heart in return. She puts it on her wrist and thinks about how much she resents her sister, and about how that’s outweighing her James Potter resent for now.

 _billy kevins_ sent a photo to _lames otter_.

 _lames otter_ : :~)

 _lames otter_ : ok im going to dinner w siris art class friends

 _lames otter_ : speaking of, he says his gift shld b arriving in the post this week

 _lames otter_ : ok byeee call u wednesday xoxo

* * *

**February**

Never having to be the one who does the vacuuming, Lily discovers one afternoon when her white socks come away from the wooden floor covered in hair and dust, is a luxury of living at home. _Oh my god_ , she thinks to herself, _you’ve been here almost a year and you never thought to hoover_.

So that’s what she does, after searching through every single cupboard in the flat. She finds this really ancient hoover that looks to be older than her—

( _Why_ , she asks herself, indulging her petulance for just a moment, _do these stupid boys have to do_ everything _for the aesthetic? Why can’t they have clean, modern appliances that_ work _?_ )

—and she sets to work.

Well, she blasts James’ awful 60s playlist and sets to work.

She tackles the guest bedroom carpet first, over the course of (shocker) a _Kinks_ song and a half. A year, a _year_ she’s lived in this flat and it’s still the guest bedroom, not _her_ bedroom. Even James still calls it that, when she can get him on the phone, when he isn’t ducking her calls, when she isn’t ducking his.

(“Hey, quick question,” Sirius had said, last time he’d been in the room while James was on Skype with her, “why the fuck do the two of you _still_ not know how to talk to each other?”

James had thrown a cushion at him, and accidentally pressed _end call_. She _chooses_ to believe it was an accident.)

She does his room over a _Beatles_ track that she doesn’t quite like, but which definitely reminds her of him. “Hey quick question,” she says, out loud to the empty room, “why the fuck am I so pathetic about James Potter?”

 _It’s because you don’t talk_ , the Sirius-tinged voice in her head snarks.

“That’s enough,” she tells him – _not_ him.

She does a shit job of vacuuming his room out of spite.

Maybe it’s not just him in her head that’s riling her up. Maybe it’s him on the wall above the fridge, tick, tick, _ticking_. Maybe she leaves the hoover running even while she’s moving furniture to drown out that fucking clock. Maybe she climbs up onto the bench and tries to accidentally knock it down while reaching for the cobwebs on the ceiling.

“Hm,” she says to herself, from her new home on the floor with a sore tailbone and an even sorer wrist. She has to drag herself, one handed, to the table to retrieve her phone.

Regulus picks up on the eighth ring. Of the third call. “What?”

“I need you to take me to A&E.”

“What? Catch the tube. What did you do?”

“I fell off the bench and I think I broke my arm.”

“Evans. I don’t have a car.”

“So nick one,” she says. “Or were you making it up when you told me last month that you feel a _spiritual connection_ with Baby from _Baby Driver_?”

“Fucking fine,” he says, except he hangs up halfway through so it’s more like _fucking fi—_.

“It’s not broken,” the nurse tells them, like _six_ hours later.

(For all his complaining that she was being a real nuisance, Regulus had stuck around in the emergency room for an _awfully_ long time.)

“Okay,” Lily says slowly. “Then why’s it hurt so much?”

Regulus stifles a snicker, but the nurse just gives her a look like _grow up_. “You’ve sprained it. We’ll get you fitted with a splint and you’ll be free to go home and _rest_.” She gives them another look, this time like _don’t get up to anything too strenuous_ , which Regulus finds even funnier.

When he takes her home, she decides she _can_ , in fact, keep living like this, and makes him put the hoover away.

“Don’t call me,” he says cheerfully on his way out, and then she’s alone.

She goes to bed, because what else is she going to do? She’s _tired_. She goes to James’ bed, and god, she _misses_ him.

She stays in bed for a few days, except for when she makes herself toast and tea, and she calls in sick to work. She calls her mum, and then she calls Remus, because those seem like the two most sensible options. The most _adult_ options, even though her mum’s still angry with her for not coming home for Christmas, even though Remus hasn’t texted her back in a week.

“James is going to want to know about this,” he tells her, then, “oh my god shut _up_ , Pete, we’re not going to be late! I’m talking to Lily, can you be quiet?”

Muffled, she hears Peter say, “Tell her hello from me. Am I making this turn?”

“No, the next one.” He sighs. “Sending him a Snapchat doesn’t count as telling him, either. _Call him_. And you didn’t hear it from me, but Black’s just about reached the end of his tether with America and I’m sure a few well-timed words from you would hold quite a bit of sway.”

“You want me to convince them to come home? Hang on, wasn’t it _Black’s_ idea to move there in the first place?”

“There’s rarely reason _or_ rhyme involved when it comes to Sirius Black. Listen, we’ve just pulled up at this dinner, I’ve got to go. Love you, call James.”

Anxiety heaves in her stomach, and she’s tired again, bone-tired. A nap, two naps later, and then, well.

 _Call him_.

Sun is streaming through the window next to him, and he’s wearing a t-shirt which is like, _annoying_ , because she hasn’t seen the sun in five or six days, and the flat is still bitingly cold.

“Sirius is being annoying,” his voice announces, three seconds before his mouth does.

“Well, you know,” she says, “I can treat you better.”

“Don’t you fuckin—”

“Better than he can.”

“Oh my god, you’re such a fucking meme. I like you why, exactly?”

She grins. “How’s LA?”

He grins back. “All so crazy, everybody seems so famous.”

“Oh, and _I’m_ the meme?”

His grin relaxes. “What’ve you gone and done to your arm?”

She goes bright red. “Hm.”

“Do I have to call Remus to find out? Or do I need to come back to make sure you don’t accidentally fall out a window? Do I need to make sure you, like, mind the gap?”

“Yeah,” she says. “Yeah, maybe.”

“Ask me properly?” He whispers it, and her thundering heart almost drowns it out.

 _Don’t be silly now_ , she tells herself. _This could be worth the risk_. “Come home,” she says, quietly. “Please, come home.”

He stares at her, just stares. Maybe the screen has frozen, and then he lets out a heavy sigh.

He opens his mouth, and the stream drops out.


	3. Let's Pretend We're Doing Great

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> part 3. dream in technicolour, live in black and white

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me: turns up 10 months late with starbucks
> 
> james and remus' birthdays are 17 days apart. no amount of argument will convince me they wouldnt have a combined 18th birthday party
> 
> playlist: https://open.spotify.com/user/1231552406/playlist/5m3tHP6sgCxnYrEvb8Ldgp?si=qnrbVHX4ThCPgU9UujL1sA
> 
> thank u 2 my heart, rhiannon

**7:45**

“Hurry up or I’m doing yours,” calls James, and Sirius glares down from his perch on the step ladder.

“Tell me again exactly why it is that I’m up here hanging the banners for _your_ party and not you?”

“Because you _loooove_ me,” James sings. Sirius gives him a kick but they both know the kick means _of course I do_. Sirius smacks the banner to make sure it’ll stay up (it won’t) and climbs back down. Remus, Peter and Evans are standing in a huddle by the fold out drinks table, and as they approach Evans whispers something to Peter and he glances over his shoulder as he giggles.

“Notice you’re doing fuck all,” Sirius says to Remus as the huddle expands to let him and James in.

“Noticed correctly,” Remus says as he accepts a shot glass from Evans and balances it on the rims of two glasses.

“Evans,” James says loudly, and she looks up at him sweetly, “you’ve only poured four shots.”

“Remus only gave me four glasses,” she says.

James rounds on him. “You’re not eighteen yet. It would be irresponsible.” Then he knocks the row of shots into the glasses and they all grab for a drink. Sirius watches James, the loser, take the bottle from beside Evans, unscrew the cap, and pour Jägermeister all over Remus’ shoes. Remus puts his empty glass on the table, looks at his feet, and starts laughing.

Sirius doesn’t know if he’s angry or not.

“These aren’t my shoes,” Remus says, bouncing up onto the balls of his feet. The action produces an uncomfortable wet sound, and yeah. Sirius is angry. He doesn’t really remember doing it but suddenly James’ hair is wet and dripping and Sirius is holding an empty can of Red Bull.

Evans checks her watch. “You have nine minutes to shower and change.”

James nods and takes an unopened bottle of tequila and Evans’ hand, and leads them both upstairs.

“I still need new shoes,” Remus says. “And to sabotage all the banners to get rid of James’ name.”

Peter appears with a mop, even though Sirius hadn’t seen him disappear. “Sirius get shoes, Remus, you can sabotage _two_ banners. I’ll put on _This Is The Day_ and clean this up. Okay?”

Remus is already slipping out of the ruined shoes – _Sirius’_ ruined shoes – so Sirius climbs the stairs two at a time ( _this is the day_ ) and takes the long way to his bedroom ( _your life will surely change_ ) to avoid the downstairs bathroom.

* * *

**9:02**

James is ignoring him.

Okay, he and James are ignoring _each other_ , but James is always the one who apologises even when it’s Sirius’ fault they started fighting and it’s been over an _hour_ and Sirius _hates_ this party.

Okay, take a breath. It’s only been an hour. James’ hair is still damp from the shower. He’s going to wait until it’s dry, _then_ he’s going to be mad James hasn’t apologised yet.

He goes upstairs just so James will have to come looking for him.

“Beautiful boy,” Euphemia calls from the library, and Sirius ducks his head as he enters. He takes a spot on the carpet at her feet and she runs her hands through his hair. “Why are you hiding?”

“’M not,” he says.

“Okay,” she says, but it sounds more like _liar_ , “why are you not-hiding, then?”

“I was coming to make sure it wasn’t too loud for you.”

“How sweet of you,” Fleamont says from the doorway, carrying a silver tray with two glasses and a bottle of scotch on it.

“Our sons,” Euphemia says, stretching out a hand for one of the glasses, “are fighting.”

“Hey!”

Fleamont chuckles as he lowers himself into a reading chair.

“I never said we were fighting,” Sirius mutters.

“You didn’t need to,” Euphemia says. “Aai knows.”

“We’re fine up here, Sirius,” Fleamont says. “Listen, barely a sound. Now, I know you have a refined palate, so take this and go back to the party.”

Sirius takes the bottle of scotch, and kisses them both on the cheek before he leaves. He thinks about going to his room and sulking. He settles on sulking on the steps down to the den instead.

“Steal that from Baba?” James asks, as he sits down next to him.

“ _No_.”

James gives him a look.

“He gave it to me.”

“Okay.”

They sit in silence for a minute, or they sit in _Hold the Line_ for a minute, while Sirius watches a couple of the guys from the cricket team play beer pong and James watches Sirius. Finally, Sirius says, “Want some?” and James takes the bottle, and their fingers brush and Sirius can’t stay mad at him. “Sorry for pouring Red Bull on you.”

James takes a measured sip. It looks like he’s trying to suppress a cough, so Sirius pats him on the back. “Sorry for ruining your shoes,” he chokes.

Sirius smiles. “Don’t worry about it.”

* * *

**9:40**

“Excuse _you_ , it is the _original_.”

“So? You want to tell me that the best version of _Mad World_ is by _Tears for Fears_ while you’re at it?” James shouts, and Evans shrinks back.

“I’m with her on this one,” Sirius says, going to stand next to her.

“How dare you forsake Olivia Newton-Jesus like this. You’re never allowed to watch _Grease_ with me again,” James says.

“Don’t say anything you don’t mean,” Sirius says, voice low, arms crossed. He hopes that Evans is taking the opportunity he’s giving her, but he doesn’t want to look to check and draw James’ focus away from their argument. “You know I take ONJ very seriously.”

James looks pained. “But John Denver?”

“He gave us this song. You have to respect that.”

He says, “Fine,” and turns to give Evans the go-ahead, but she’s already by the stereo and flipping him off while Mr Denver tells them about the Blue Ridge Mountains and the Shenandoah River.

Sirius says, “Sucks to suck.”

* * *

**10:00**

Euphemia and Fleamont come downstairs at ten on the dot, carrying a cake each, and Sirius and Peter spring forward to help, clearing off a section of the drinks table in a matter of seconds. Sirius pulls his lighter out of his pocket and starts lighting candles before Euphemia even gets the cake down, and when they’re all lit, he tosses it to Peter.

He sings so loudly he thinks he’s going to choke on his own voice, and he lets Fleamont basically force-feed him a too-large slice of cake, and he watches Euphemia and James waltz around the room to _Little Things Mean a Lot_ with a growing pit of jealousy in his stomach, though he doesn’t know which one he’s jealous of. He steps in and dances with Moony, partly so his hands have something to do, partly because Moony looks extremely awkward just standing there, watching. Maybe it’s the sugar from the cake, maybe it’s the alcohol. Maybe he’s just restless.

Euphemia drives herself and James towards them, and in a clever motion somehow swaps James for Remus. James squeezes his hand and takes the lead, and Sirius is grateful, because his heart has just skipped a beat and he doesn’t know why.

Kitty Kallen makes way for a _One Direction_ song and Sirius drops James’ hand. Too fast ( _I just want to take you_ ), too conspicuous ( _any way that you like_ ), if James’ expression is anything to go by. “Loo,” he says, and walks away before he can blush any deeper.

* * *

**10:31**

He drops in between Peter and James on the low sofa, though he doesn’t really intend on joining in their conversation.

“Why would you say that?” James asks. He leans back and closes his eyes, and he smells a bit like weed, though Sirius knows neither of them have money for weed.

“Because it’s true.”

James scoffs. “Yeah, okay.”

“Artie Faller and Dan Tawdry are going to kick off on Monday after school over it, guaranteed.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” James yawns.

“Open your eyes, then,” Peter says, taking a sip of his cider.

“Open your mind,” James shoots back.

“No, literally. Open your eyes.”

James sits forward, annoyed, but he follows Peter’s finger, and his jaw goes slack. Sirius looks too, and what they’re looking at appears to be one of the boys from the cricket team eating the face of one of the girls Sirius thinks is on the girls’ football team.

“Worlds collide,” James whispers.

“Hogwarts Romeo and Juliet,” Peter says smugly. “Cricket team’s the Capulets.”

James pauses on his way sliding down to lay his head in Sirius’ lap. “Hey! Not all of the cricket team hates _all_ of the football team.”

“Cricket team and football team get along factoid statistical error,” Peter says, and James rolls his eyes.

“Shut the fuck up,” James says. “Oh, Siri! When did you get here?”

Sirius looks down at him, pauses in stroking his hair. “Just now,” he lies.

“Well, you missed Tawdry and Tully Faller snogging.”

“They’re literally still going,” says Peter.

James looks annoyed. “Fuck off, Peter.”

“Yeah,” Sirius says, “fuck off, Peter.”

* * *

**10:45**

“Come on, let us give you a fringe,” Marlene whines, and Sirius dodges out of her reach.

“You’ll look like Joey Ramone,” Evans says, grabbing at his sleeve, because the party is dead enough that the two of them have retreated into the den loo.

Sirius gently removes her hand. “Evans, I would not let you near me with scissors _sober_ let alone _blind drunk_.”

She hiccups. “I’m not _blind_ ,” she says, but she bumps into Marlene as she turns around so Sirius isn't exactly inclined to change his mind. In a few seconds she’s completely forgotten him and calls to Benjy from the rugby team because his _hair is looking really scruffy around your ears me and Marls’ll fix it step into our office_ and Sirius watches the boy as he’s forced down onto the closed toilet lid.

Sirius turns around just in time to watch Remus scream and launch himself across the room to turn the stereo up. He’s taken off his replacement shoes so it’s barefoot that he dances across the carpet to take Sirius’ hands.

“ _I would go out tonight_ ,” he sings, “ _but I haven’t got a stitch_ —”

“ _To wear_ ,” Sirius grins, allowing himself to be spun. He spins right into James, and Peter dips him, and he watches Benjy from the rugby team make a run for it when Lily and Marlene start singing at each other. Frank has a girl from their sociology class on his back and someone puts the song on again because even the cricket team is dancing and laughing and Peter decides to pour drinks.

“Come on!” James laughs, bending down for Sirius to climb onto his back. They spin in a circle, and Sirius is definitely going to throw up if they keep going but he laughs anyway and he loves James he loves James _he loves Jameshelovesjame_

Peter excuses himself to go to the loo, but Evans and Marlene have already reinstalled themselves in it, and Evans gives Marlene an extremely devious look that Sirius wants no part of.

“Peter, we think you would look absolutely _fab_ ,” Marlene starts.

“Fabbity fab,” Evans agrees.

“…with a mullet.”

“What,” Peter says, but Marlene has already cut a chunk of his hair off.

James wraps his arms around Sirius’ shoulders, and Sirius shivers. “Baba and Aai are going to bed, do we need anything before they check out?”

“Don’t think so.”

“Move!” Peter shouts, and Evans and Marlene leap back as he slides off the loo and opens the lid seconds before he starts vomiting. Marlene looks back at them with a bemused look on her face, but Evans just shrugs and continues cutting Pete’s hair. James releases Sirius and walks over to close the loo door. He wrinkles his nose as he smiles back at Sirius.

“Who’s ready!” Frank shouts, and makes a show of pressing play on James’ old laptop. Sirius shrugs at James, and takes his hands to drag him into the middle of the room to dance.

They’ve had a routine to this song since they were twelve, but that _fucking_ film came out last year and yeah okay maybe Sirius looks _a little_ like Ezra Miller and now when they break it out everyone thinks they’re doing _that_ , so they just sway, but Sirius can see James going through their steps in his mind. “Spin,” James mutters to himself, “dip.”

Sirius just smiles, and rests his head on James’ shoulder.

* * *

**11:13**

“You guys wanna go up to James’ room?” Frank asks.

“And do what?” Remus asks, twisting around in James’ arms to look up at him.

Frank just pumps his eyebrows, and James snorts, burrowing his face into the crook of Remus’ neck. They barely fit on the loveseat just the two of them, even with Remus half in James’ lap, but Frank tries to drape himself over it anyway.

“Fuck off, Frank,” Remus says.

“This is James and Remus cuddle time, not James, Remus and Frank cuddle time,” James says.

Frank starts muttering to himself as he rolls off onto the floor, but Sirius watches him bounce to his feet and fall into step with Marlene with a slick, “Hey.”

He looks down at the laptop screen, and pulls up the queue. With a quick glance over at the loveseat he scrolls down and discretely removes one two three four five six seven songs by _The Kinks_.

* * *

**11:20**

“Sirius I’m Serious!” James says, and his voice is honest-to-god _shaking_. “It’s my party and you won’t let me listen to my music and – and…” he trails off as his voice breaks and he swallows a sob.

“You cannot play an entire _Kinks_ album,” Sirius says calmly. “Everyone will hate you.”

“But I _love_ her!”

Sirius blinks. “Her?”

“Them,” James corrects. “I love _them_. They speak to my soul.” He’s not looking at Sirius anymore. He’s looking somewhere behind Sirius, but Sirius doesn’t care to turn around and find out ~~who~~ what has grabbed his attention.

He pretends that Peter’s doing something interesting, and walks away without a word. Peter is rarely doing anything interesting, but Sirius needs a drink and Peter seems to be mixing drinks, so that’s interesting enough.

“What’s cookin’, mediocre lookin’?”

“Wet pussy,” Peter says, without looking up.

“Yeah, I’ll get in on that action,” Sirius says, picking up an empty shot glass.

Peter shakes the shaker, and pours them each a shot.

“James trying to play _Kinks_?”

“Yeah.”

“Well,” Peter pauses to take his shot, and Sirius follows suit ( _hint of Jäger_ ), “don’t worry. I’ve put something in the queue just for you.” He winks clumsily, and pours another set of shots.

A moment passes between them, and then Sirius says, “Peter, genuine question. Are you actually fucked in the head?”

“What? It’s _Gasol_ —”

“ _No_ , it is _not_ ,” Sirius hisses. “Don’t you _ever_ say that.”

“It’s the best remix,” Peter says, folding his arms. Defiant.

“I’m going to kill you.”

“Chill and take another shot,” Peter says. “Remus is already walking over to skip it.”

(Remus is sprinting over to skip it.)

Sirius takes a deep breath, and rolls his shoulders. “You’re right.”

Peter looks righteously surprised. “I am?”

Sirius nods. “I fancy a smoke.”

“I fancy joining you.”

“Excellent,” Sirius says. Peter goes out into the little courtyard attached to the den first, and Sirius stands in the doorway. “Do you still have my lighter?”

Peter pulls the Bic out of his pocket and waves it around.

“Good, you can use it to keep you warm.” He steps back in and slams the door, making a show of locking it. Peter pounds on the glass half-heartedly for a few seconds and flips Sirius off, but it’s no use, so he just lays down.

“No one,” Sirius announces loudly, “is allowed to let Pettigrew back in until I say so.”

* * *

**11:36**

James is sitting with Evans on the low sofa when Sirius tries to walk past to the stereo to lock the laptop so Frank and Marlene can’t keep trying to put _Gangnam Style_ on. He _tries_ to walk past but James reaches out and pulls him down next to them. He already has an arm around Evans, and he throws his other around Sirius to keep him from leaving.

It’s a good tactic; Sirius wants nothing more than to leave.

“My two greatest loves,” James sighs, giving them a squeeze. Sirius is so close to him that he feels when James’ phone buzzes in his pocket. Both he and Evans read over James’ shoulder: _ratatouille boy: hey im hungry. bring skips x_

James nods to himself, and kisses them each on the forehead. He gets up, and wanders off to find Remus. Sirius darts a look at Evans, but she’s looking at her hands. The space between them is too small and too large all at once.

“I – I want you to know,” she says softly, and it doesn’t feel like she’s trying to be quiet. It just feels like the quietness is a coincidence. “I’m not angry with you. I don’t want you to feel like I’m angry with you.”

“I know you’re not,” he says, though he doesn’t, and he’s still not sure what she’s not angry about.

“I just really don’t want you to think that I have a problem with the way you love James.” This _is_ quiet, quiet on purpose, quiet enough that Sirius can ignore it if he wants. “I don’t.”

“Don’t what?” James asks.

To her credit, Evans doesn’t act surprised that he’s suddenly back between them like he’d never left. “Don’t want to go to Spoons after the movie on Wednesday.”

“That’s ridiculous,” James scoffs. “Of course we’re going to Spoons. We always go to Spoons.”

Sirius is still looking at Evans over James’ shoulder. He wants her to know that what she’s said, where she’s said it – it feels like a betrayal. But he has a Black’s face and those aren’t really equipped to convey subtle emotion, so she doesn’t get it. She just gives him a soft look. _Gangnam Style_ is playing.

He kind of hates her.

* * *

**12:00**

“Pete wants to know if he can come back in yet.”

“Tell Peter if he wanted to remain inside he should have thought of that before he played a hideous remix of the greatest song of all time.”

Frank shrugs. “Can I at least take him a beer?”

Sirius considers. “Yeah, go on.”

Marlene slings an arm around his shoulders as he watches Frank go. “Seems unusually charitable of you.”

Sirius pats her hand. “Peter hates beer.” He turns around and touches her uneven bangs. “Done with the barbershop?”

Marlene sighs, a big dramatic affair that involves her entire body and the act of slumping almost to the floor.

“Spit it out.”

Marlene removes her hand from where it’s draped delicately across her forehead and gives him a _look_. “Potter _stole_ my business partner.”

“Stole her where? This is not a large room.” _This is not a small house_.

“I don’t _know_ , Black. If I _knew_ , then I would go _steal her back_.”

Sirius frowns, and Marlene pulls a flask out from _somewhere_. She offers him a swig, and he decides he doesn’t care that it came from her _somewhere_.

“Like,” she says, “I would die for Lily Evans, but her and Potter? Jesus Fucking Kardashian.”

“I feel ya,” Sirius says, handing the flask back. It disappears back into _somewhere_. “Do you want to go look upstairs? We’re allowed to. I live here.”

“Nah. I mean, sounded like James wanted to fuck. Neither of us need to walk in on that.”

All of a sudden, Sirius is very done with this topic of conversation. “I’m going to go check on Lupin,” he says, and turns his back on her. _Why is this hitting a nerve, Sirius? Why do you care if James is going to_

He doesn’t care to finish the thought.

Remus is draped over the loveseat, and he doesn’t react when Sirius pokes his cheek, so Sirius climbs over him to sit on the seatback. “Lupin,” Sirius sighs. No response. “I feel like I’m going crazy. James is off with Evans and I just…I just hate it, I hate it and I don’t know why I hate it because I love James and I… _like_ …Evans and I love James and…” He sighs again. “I love James. Remus, I think I love James like, for real love him. Or maybe I don’t. I don’t know. Like, would I shag him? Yes, obviously. He’s _James_ , and he looks like _that_. It’s like, I can’t imagine my life without him. What if he and Evans get married?” He buries his face in his hands. “When I think about getting married, it only makes sense to marry James. How can I get married to him if he’s already married to her?” He takes a deep, shaking breath. “And I can absolutely never tell him any of this, because he’ll think I’m creepy, or he’ll say it’s fine but really it’s _not_ fine and it never _will_ be fine because I’m that arse who fell in love with his best friend and made everything complicated and everyone knows that only works out for straight people and even then that’s not a guarantee. Oh my god, why have I done this?”

“You’re so fucking stupid,” Remus mumbles, and Sirius just about jumps out of his skin.

“You’re awake?” he hisses.

“ _Yes_ , I’m _awake_ ,” Remus says, propping himself up on his elbow, “you woke me up with your crisis.”

“I need…to…uhhh…leave…”

“Alright,” Remus says. “Want me to pretend I was too drunk to remember this conversation tomorrow?”

“Yes please.”

Remus lowers himself back down and says, “You’re literally the stupidest person I know.”

* * *

**12:25**

“Everyone who’s already eighteen, back the _fuck_ off!” James shouts, and spins around a few times with his arms out to make sure no one’s in his space. “McKinnon,” he says, and points, “you’re with me.”

 _Call Me Maybe_ fades out, and Sirius thinks he’s going to murder James for benching him during _ABBA_. Frank looks put out, too, but at least he has the rugby boys to bitch with. Remus is still passed out, and Peter’s still outside, and _fuck_ , does he _really_ not have any other friends?

He looks over at the rugby boys, and it’s a bit weird to not see his brother among them, but like fuck was he going to let Regulus in here. He spots Evans, with her phone raised, filming the spectacle, and decides his best bet is to scrounge up a permanent marker and draw as many dicks on Remus’ face as he can before the song ends.

 _Dancing Queen_ is a pretty long song.

* * *

**1:01**

“Potter,” calls one of the football girls. Sirius doesn’t know any of their names, but he follows James across the room anyway. She has a phone tucked under her ear, and holds out a finger to let him know she won’t be long. “Yep, okay. See you soon.” She looks at James. “Mum brigade is on the way.”

“Oh,” says James. “Is it that late already?”

“Yes,” she (Sarah?) says. “So if you’re going to play _Three Lions_ , play it now.”

“Oh, shit! Yeah. I’ll have it on next.”

She claps his shoulder. “Good fucking lad. I’ll gather the girls.”

“Nice.”

Sirius volunteers to go put it on, because he doesn’t particularly want to get caught in the middle of a circle of football players shouting directly in his ear, and already being on the fringe of the party seems like the only way he’s going to avoid getting sucked into it.

“Privately,” Evans says, sidling up beside him, “I hope football never comes home ever again.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Sirius says, and she hands him a disposable coffee cup filled with something that he’s only sure _isn’t_ coffee.

She waits ‘til he has his mouth full (cider? beer? cider _and_ beer?) to say, “Also I let Peter back inside,” and disappears before he can swallow.

He almost chokes, but he doesn’t try to follow her, or find Peter.

He sits down next to the speaker, leans against the wall, and closes his eyes. He wants everyone to leave, wants the party to be over. Wants the party to never have happened. Wants James to quit the football team, wants this fucking song to end.

Wants, he leans against the wall and he _wants_.

* * *

**1:58**

“Come down here with me,” James whines, holding his arms out. “ _I think about that small café_.”

“You’re a baby,” Sirius says, but he lays down anyway. “This carpet is disgusting.”

“Yeah, as far as I’m aware Baba and Aai have never cleaned it.” He takes Sirius’ hand, entwines their fingers. “ _I’ll drink afternoon tea afternoon tea_ – how often is carpet supposed to be cleaned?”

“I have no idea. How do you even clean a carpet?”

“Carpet cleaner and hoovering, I suppose.”

“Wouldn’t it be so funny,” Sirius says, “if this carpet wasn’t actually brown at all and it’s just dirt?”

“ _I drink sugar with_ – Sirius that would not be funny at all. I’m getting sick just thinking about it.”

“You get sick thinking about McGonagall with her hair down.”

“She’s looked the same since the day I first met her! I don’t want her to ever change! It’s like if your cousin waxed her upper lip, or – or if Remus wore skinny jeans.”

“You’ve never seen Moony’s skinny jeans?”

The look of utter disbelief and upset that James gives him is enough to break him. “I don’t know who he is anymore,” James whispers.

“Hey,” Sirius says, squeezing his hand, “think about it this way. At least Pete has a mullet now.”

James’ smile is so bright it’s hard to look at in the dimness. “Yeah! Hey, yeah!” He stops to giggle. “Mullet. Did you ever catch the mullet in Club Penguin?”

Sirius rolls onto his side to stare at James. “You could do that?”

“Yeah. Remus showed me how to do it in year six.”

“Why didn’t he show me?” Sirius is dangerously close to pouting.

“Well, let’s think…if he didn’t tell you, he mustn’t have been talking to you, so was that when you stole his _Take That_ CDs?”

“No, that was the year before.”

James rolls onto his side as well. “Was it when you and Peter played darts that one time and you got him in the foot?”

“I think that was later.”

“When we had a sleepover and you spilled your sprite all over his sleeping bag and he cried and called his dad to pick him up and you made fun of him at school on Monday for crying despite the fact you sobbed the whole way through _Notting Hill_?”

“Yeah that sounds like it.” They’re face to face and James’ lips are _right there_ and he wants to kiss him, wants to kiss him so that James knows he _means_ it.

Except Evans flops down on James’ other side and he rolls back onto his back. Sirius watches Evans take James’ hand – the one Sirius isn’t holding he’s still holding _why are you still holding his hand_

Sirius watches James slip away from him, and it makes him want to cry.

* * *

**5:30**

He wakes up on the floor, and he wakes up with James breathing on his face. He wakes up with the idea that _Mr Brightside_ has been playing for quite a while now, and he wakes up with 151 notifications on his phone, and he wakes up calm. He doesn’t stay that way, though, because almost as soon as he registers James he registers Evans, with an arm and a leg draped over him. Sometime since they fell asleep, Sirius let go of James’ hand, or James let go of Sirius’ hand, or Evans waited ‘til they were both out and maliciously ripped their hands apart, because he’s never woken up next to James Potter not holding his hand.

He kisses James’ forehead, feather-light, and then he sits up. Remus is still on the loveseat, and Peter’s curled up on the floor by the loo, but everyone else has cleared off, and Sirius is glad; the den looks like it’s been hit by a hurricane, and he couldn’t deal with people on top of that.

When he goes upstairs, the kitchen light is on, and this time he doesn’t wait for Euphemia to call him in.

“Good morning, beautiful boy,” she says, and pulls another mug from the shelf for him. “How was your night?”

His voice is husky when he says, “Aai,” but Euphemia doesn’t have time to notice as she crosses the kitchen in two quick strides and wraps him up in a hug. He cries into her shoulder for as long as he dares, and she rubs his back and massages his scalp until he pushes away because the saucepan is starting to bubble over. “Don’t worry ‘bout me,” he says. She shoots him a look over her shoulder that says _fat chance_.

“Everything will work out,” she says, as she pours the tea into the mugs.

“How can you know?” he asks, taking the mug she offers.

“I’m your mother,” she smiles, and pats his cheek. “Aai knows. Now take that up to bed with you, and when you wake up, everything will seem a little better. Okay?”

He nods. Things already seem a little better, with the warmth of the mug, and the warmth of a mother’s love. He kisses her cheek, takes a sip of his chai, and then he goes to bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you would like to sue for emotional abuse my offices are located at steeveharrington.tumblr.com


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